


you don't need money when you're famous

by deniigiq



Series: no burden is he to bear [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Coming Out, Film, Interviews, cinema, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 17:45:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13058994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deniigiq/pseuds/deniigiq
Summary: A thousand movies have been made of Captain America, but Steve Rogers has only given one interview since coming out of the ice for a film. And it was uncomfortable for everyone involved. Also, Buck and Steve are obsessed with Newsies.





	you don't need money when you're famous

Steve had been watching Newsies for about a week straight when Sam finally called back a director in California who had left a voicemail about two weeks ago. It wasn’t that he was actually interested in talking to the guy, but the alternative was watching Steve and Buck cuddle up around the tablet and bitch about trade unions for the 30th time.

So he answered the damn phone. The director, some guy named Tom Ericson, talked so fast he sounded like he was drowning. Sam was weighing the appropriateness of recommending breathing exercises when he caught onto what the guy was saying

“—Of course, I know like a million films have been done about Cap, but this one—this one is completely different! We’ve got Paul Moores to play Captain Rogers and we’ve got Amy Barker for Agent Carter and—”

 Ah. Another biography then.

“Hey man, listen,” he started gently, “I’m sure you’re great and I’m sure your actors are great, but Steve just doesn’t have time for that kind of thing.” He heard Buck start wailing “Now’s the time to SEIZE THE DAY” in the other room. Steve sounded like he was coughing in between laughs.

“I know,” the guy on the phone gasped out, “I know. I totally get that. But maybe he could make a cameo or-or-or maybe he could at least talk to Paul? This is a huge role for him, he’s been working out for months. The poor guy hasn’t had a carb in like a thousand years.”

“You want Steve to appear for a cameo in his own biography?” Sam stated with greater appreciation for Steve’s publicist who usually took these calls.

The director paused in what Sam could only interpret as blissful recognition of his idiocy.

“Okay maybe not a cameo then, but definitely talking to Paul! He’s great, real gentle, real down-to-earth. I know Cap’s had some bad experiences with actors in the past, but this guy looks just like him and he’s really true to his craft.”

Sam didn’t know shit about Steve’s previous actor experiences. He made a mental note to follow-up.

“Listen, normally we don’t make these deals; this is a publicist thing. How did you even get this number? This isn’t even Steve’s number.”

“Please, Mr. Wilson! Could you just ask him, just ask him once and I’ll never call again and I’m sorry for being so invasive and I—”

“Man, breathe. And you should be sorry. And I don’t appreciate you calling me to get to Cap.”

“I’M—”

“But I’m going ask him because I’m a saint and you’re never going to call again. Deal?” Sam could imagine this guy damn near standing on his desk. The guy squeaked out a tight “Yes, sir,” and Sam leaned out the door to shout into the living room.

“Steven, some director called my damn number; he wants you to talk to his actor. Guy’s playing you in the latest you-film.”

All he got in response was the crooning of the end of the song. Steve and Buck were probably holding an intense eyebrow conference.

“Why’d he call you?” Steve called, but Sam could hear him shuffling towards the office.

“No damn clue. I’m offended. He knows. You want to do it?”

“Why’re people still making films about me. I’m not dead.” Buck’s shouted “YET” from the living room was unhelpful.

“I don’t know, people are just dying to though. Allison told me she gets like 20 calls a week from people trying to ask you to show up in their films.”

“But I’m not dead. Wouldn’t it be weird for me to show up in a movie about me?”

Sam shrugged and held out the phone; he was pretty sure the director had not breathed on the other side since the beginning of this conversation. He didn’t want to be responsibility for some kind of dumbass self-suffocation. Steve took the phone.

“Hello, this is Rogers.”

Sam could only hear stilted babbling, but he trusted Buck to replay the conversation for him word for word later. Super-hearing and all that.

“Listen, Mister? Ericson, yes, Ericson. I appreciate what you are trying to do, but you need to understand how weird what you’re asking for is. You want me. To talk to some actor. So they can do exactly what every other Cap actor has been doing for 70 years. What could they possibly need to—okay. Okay, yes I understand. Actually no, I don’t understand. No, I hear you, I think I’m just not interested. Thank you for—who? No, I don’t know him. What does that even mean? Listen, if he calls my publicist, like every other normal person who wants to talk to me, then we’ll see what we can do, okay? Also, please never call my friends ever again—that’s fine, but it’s not an excuse. Okay. Okay, I’m hanging up. Bye.”

Steve turned wide eyes onto Sam. “He’s directing an origin story. Apparently, everyone but him only cares about post-war Cap, but he’s different, Sam. He cares about pre-war Cap. With an amazing thirties aesthetic. It’s gonna be a hit.”

Buck grunted from where he’d materialized in the doorway. He gave Sam and Steve a moment to shake off the shock while he eyed the phone in Steve’s hand.

“Who’s playing you?” He asked.

“Some guy named Paul Morris.” Steve said.

“Morris? You mean Moores?” Buck asked, already tapping away on his phone to find a picture. Sam didn’t ask how he knew the guy’s name. Buck raised an eyebrow at the screen before flipping it around to show them an on-set picture of a blond man with very strong eyebrows and an equally strong nose. Steve snorted. Sam had to give it to the guy, his actor did have a good resemblance.

“I mean, okay, he looks like me. But so do the other fifty me-actors,” Steve said as he wandered into the kitchen, having apparently had enough of the conversation.

Buck squirmed in too close to Sam and clicked on an interview where Actor Moores was gushing about his respect for the character and how he’s read like a thousand books on Cap and who isn’t a little in love with Cap? Yeah, everyone becomes an international terrorist sometime in their lives. It’s not big deal, anyways, Cap’s back in the black with the public since the trial and the whole alien thing. Has he met him? No, sir, but he’d do anything to. He just really wants to be honest to Cap’s story.

The silence in the kitchen was telling.

“Steve, no,” Sam started.

“Stevie, you should tell him about the time that I lost you at that socialist rally and you got in a fight with Vlad Zotov and Barry Peterson grabbed you by your collar and literally parted a red sea to dump you into my arms. It’s like the third most romantic thing that’s ever happened to us.”

Sam considered this information. He had a strong inclination to beat Buck’s brains out half of the time due to his unspeakably corrupting influence on Steve (not that the guy was an angel before Buck fell back into his lap), but then he came out with crazy shit like this and Sam could only wonder how many of these stories existed. He kind of (definitely) loved Buck for it. He peeked into the kitchen where Steve’s back was also considering this information. The line in his neck looked like he maybe wanted to never speak of it again.

“If I told them the truth, they wouldn’t believe it. And if they did believe it, they would blow right past it. Also, if they are doing pre-war stuff, why is their actor so big? Like, you can’t even see his ribs, how is that supposed to be me?” Steve said, untwisting the tie on the bread and rustling around for a butter knife.

Sam sometimes got a little overwhelmed when he remembered that Steve had a whole life before Cap. Maybe not a rosy life, but a life. It made him a little sad; Steve noticed his silence and cocked his head to the side, inquiring if Sam was okay. Sam shrugged.

“I mean, it’s up to you. You don’t have to talk to him, man.”

Buck looked suspiciously thoughtful.

“I think you should do it,” he announced. Steve turned around with his eyebrows flattened.

“Great. I won’t.”

But two weeks later Steve did because Bucky Barnes is a menace and a bad influence and very persuasive. Steve went out to lunch with his lookalike. Moores played up his Cap-ness by arriving to their building on a Harley, sporting a brown leather jacket over a white t-shirt. Steve took one look out the window and stomped upstairs to put on a gray Henley and to steal Buck’s smoke-infused black sweatshirt off his back. Sam knew this because of the indignant squawk. Moores rang the bell and Sam very purposefully did not answer. This was Steve’s problem. Steve caught the intercom button on his way back down the stairs, gave Sam a peck on the lips, and met the guy in the foyer. Sam watched Steve coax the guy into walking with him the few blocks to the café. When they disappeared out of view, he took a sip of coffee and wandered into the living room where Buck was laying on the floor, tapping away at his phone as per usual. Probably activating the bugs he’d snuck into the sweatshirt Steve stole.

“Wanna feed the ducks?” He asked and watched as Buck’s head snapped towards him.

“Now?” He asked.

“Now,” Sam confirmed.

“Yes.”

“Go get your coat.” Sam watched Buck throw himself off the rug and take the stairs two at a time. One day he’d figure out what was exciting about the ducks, but in the meantime, he was going to interfere with some unnecessary espionage.

Two hours and many fat, happy ducks later (YOU CAN’T FEED THEM BREAD SAM THEY’LL EXPLODE), Sam was munching on a grilled cheese while Buck hoarded a bag of chips when Steve came home. He hung his keys on the nail Buck had unceremoniously hammered into the wall. He slunk into the kitchen and stole a sip of Sam’s orange juice before wandering towards the living room, no doubt to play Newsies again and avoid any reports on his conversation with Actor Moores.

Buck was having none of that.

“Did you tell him about Betty and the other queens?” He shouted after Steve.

“Yeah, and I told him about the time you fell off the docks and your dad almost had a heart-attack and panic-cuddled you in front of the entire dock yard,” Steve called from the couch.

Buck’s squint indicated that maybe he’d had enough of that. Sam needed a notebook to keep track of the shit he needed to follow-up on.

“He was a true man, Steve. He ain’t give a shit about what people thought of him, Steve. It ain’t un-masculine to love your kids.” Buck growled in the living room’s direction.

“No he was definitely comfortable with his masculinity--you weren’t though,” Steve snapped back.

“What did you guys talk about?” Sam tried, going for civil and moving to at least be in the same room as the other half of the conversation. Steve watched him come in and lifted his legs from the couch so Sam could sit down.

“You know, the normal stuff. He was all ‘tell me about yourself?’ and ‘what is the core of your character?’ and that kind of thing, as if I knew,” Sam threw an arm over Steve’s side and laid his head on Steve’s hip. Steve rubbed at the base of his skull, softening.

“I told him I wasn’t comfortable talking about myself. Told him that Cap’s like a character that I put on and take off and that if he wanted to know about Cap I could tell him some stuff about that. He was kinda interested. I also told him I could tell him some stories about Brooklyn if that would help and that he could decide what he wanted to do with those, and he said okay. So I told him about Brooklyn. He’s a nice guy. Kinda boring. Pretty earnest. I think he actually cares about Cap as a person. It’s sweet.”

Sam tried to stay awake through the gentle massage at his neck and the soft mumble of Steve’s voice. Steve spoke softly when he was having emotions, so he didn’t want to push too much.

“It was nice of you to meet with him,” he said. Steve hummed.

“I don’t want to do it again,” he stated. Sam looked up at him, then reached a hand up to thumb at Steve’s cheekbone.

“Okay, you don’t have to,” he said.

“He asked if I was gay,” Steve mumbled, leaning into the cup of Sam’s hand, “He said he was gay and he had always hoped that Cap was too.” Sam tried to school his expression.

“And? What did you tell him?”

“Told him I wasn’t gay and that—you know—many partners, many loves—that kind of thing. And he said he was a little disappointed but was still happy that I’m not—you know—just a basic straight white guy. He said that he felt like that might change the way he acted with their Peggy.” Sam squeezed Steve’s thigh and rubbed it a little.

“Why?”

“I dunno. I told him that I loved her a lot and that my, like, sexuality, didn’t have any affect that, so I was confused. And he said that there must have been some kind of tension having her and Buck at once. He kept saying ‘not a bad tension.’” Steve’s hand stopped its motions on Sam’s neck, so Sam turned to see Steve’s face. Brow furrowed. Chewing his lip. These things were hard to talk about.

“Was there a bad tension between Buck and Peggy?” He asked.

Buck chose that moment pop up and fall into the chair next to them.

“I dunno,” Steve said, “I don’t remember there being any? But I’m oblivious to this kind of thing. Buck?”

Buck squinted at them for a beat.

“We had some tension. Mostly ‘cause she shouted at me a lot and I…I’m pretty sure I pranked her?” Steve snorted, confirming it.

“Yeah,” Buck continued, “I pranked her and messed with her and she’d shout at me and sometimes hit me, but not like, in a mean way.” He considered his socks. “We didn’t have the same kind of relationship we—“he gestured to the three of them, “have. But, it wasn’t bad. I think we had a ‘V’ instead of a triangle,” he said, scuffing his toes against the hardwood. Sam looked back at Steve waiting for more information.

Steve bobbed his head a little and sighed.

“Yeah, it was probably more like a ‘V;’ I kind of wished it wasn’t, though.” Buck huffed out a laugh.

Sam didn’t really know where to take this conversation. He hadn’t thought about how Carter affected the Buck and Roger show. He petted Steve’s thigh to let him know he was sympathetic. Steve squirmed, trying to get closer until Sam gave in and crawled up to lay on his chest. Buck hummed from his seat, softly pulling out the last few lines of Santa Fe.

The film was shit.

 

 


End file.
